by James Frey
The tube containing the plans we kept closer. It’s sewn into the coat I’m wearing. Again, maybe not the smartest place to keep it, but I feel better having it nearby. If something goes wrong, it won’t be too difficult for Ariadne to retrieve it. And if something goes really wrong, well, we won’t be around to care, I guess.
Not that I think Ott will try to kill us. If he does, he loses any chance he has of getting his hands on the weapon, and I think that’s more important to him than anything else. I also don’t really believe he would hurt Brecht, who was his father’s friend. So although I’m apprehensive, I’m not overly concerned about this meeting.
“Ott’s only bargaining chip is that he thinks we really want the weapon to be built,” I remind Ariadne. “He thinks we want Brecht because we need him to help us build the weapon.”
The thing is, I’m not sure we really care about building the weapon anymore. If we ever did. Now that Ariadne is considered a traitor to her line, it’s not like she’ll hand the weapon over to them. Even if it would get her reinstated as Player. And I’m not anxious for the Cahokians to have it either, at least not without agreeing to share it or use it to change the course of Endgame for everyone. Mostly, I’m thinking that we—Ariadne and I—can use it as a bargaining chip, to negotiate some kind of way for us to be together. And we could probably do that even without Brecht. Really, the only reason I’m concerned about him is because he’s Lottie’s father and Bernard’s grandfather. I figure I owe it to them, and to my brother, to keep him unharmed.
It’s funny how my perspective on all of this has changed in such a short time. And it’s all because of how I feel about Ariadne. Now I reach out and take her hand.
“What?” she says.
“You’re always so suspicious,” I say. “Can’t I just want to hold your hand?”
“Sorry,” she says. “It’s that whole Player thing. Don’t trust anyone and all that.”
“Pretend we’re on a date,” I say. “I’m walking you home.”
She laughs. It’s the sweetest sound in the world. “You mean, pretend we’re normal people?”
“I don’t think we can ever be normal, exactly,” I say. “Not after all of this. But maybe something close to it.”
Ariadne doesn’t say anything, and suddenly the atmosphere around us feels different. “Hey,” I say. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she says, but she doesn’t sound convincing.
I stop. “Talk to me,” I say.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she says.
“Come on, Ari. I can tell when you’re holding out on me.”
“Did you just call me Ari?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I guess I did. Do you like it?”
“I do,” she says, and this time, I know she means it. “Cassandra and I never even used nicknames for each other. It was always Ariadne and Cassandra.”
“Well, Ari,” I say. “What are you worried about?”
“Meeting a dangerous man in a dark park?” she suggests.
“Besides that. There’s something else, isn’t there?”
She hesitates before answering. “When do we stop running?” she says.
I don’t have an answer for her, at least not one that will help. “I don’t know,” I say. “Let’s just get through tonight, and then we’ll worry about it.”
It’s not the answer she wants to hear, or the one I want to give her, but it’s the only one I’ve got. Right now we seem so far away from everything that could be considered a normal life. And maybe it’s too late for us to have anything normal. Probably it was too late the day we were chosen to train as Players.
“Let’s throw the plans in the river and get out of Moscow,” I say. “Go somewhere warm. I’m sick of snow and cold. I want to lie on the beach and not think about the end of the world.”
She puts her arms around me and hugs me. “That sounds great,” she says. “But we can’t.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, the river is frozen.”
“We could drop the tube through one of those fishing holes,” I argue.
“For another, they’d still come after us.”
I sigh. She’s right. They would. The only way we’ll get out of this is if we give our lines something they want.
“All right,” I say, and kiss her. “Let’s get this over with, then.”
We walk the rest of the way to the rendezvous point in silence. When we get to the place Ott has chosen, a statue of a woman poised to dive off her pedestal and into the water, we stop. There is no one else in sight, although we have a few minutes until the agreed-upon time. We stand in front of the statue, back to back, surveying the area and waiting. I rub my hands together to try to warm them. It feels as if the cold has soaked into my bones and will never leave, and I think about how nice it would be to sit in front of a warm fire with Ari, with nothing to worry about. I wonder if that will ever happen.
Somewhere, a clock begins to chime midnight. Before it’s counted out twelve hours, Ott appears, walking out of the darkness. He is alone. He stops a dozen feet away from us.
“A beautiful night,” he says.
“Yes,” I say. “It is.”
“I’m sorry that our last meeting did not go as planned,” Ott says.
“And I’m sorry that the guards killed your father,” I tell him. I want him to know that it was not Ariadne’s fault. “There were complications.”
Ott nods. “Regrettable,” he says. “I understand the Minoan was recognized.”
I feel Ariadne stiffen beside me. I know that, like myself, she’s wondering how Ott knows this. Brecht couldn’t have told him, so that means he has some inside knowledge of what went on inside the Taganka infirmary.
There’s no point in denying what happened, so I say, “She tried to get your father out.”
“And failed,” says Ott.
So, this is how he’s going to play this. He blames us for his father’s death, and now he wants some kind of reparation.
“How is Brecht?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“As well as can be expected,” Ott tells me. “After so much time in Taganka, I’m afraid his health is not at all good. He requires medical attention as soon as possible.”
It sounds like a threat, a threat meant to make me inclined to do whatever it is he asks. “It will do no one any good if he dies,” I remind him. “His daughter and grandson would like to see him again.”
“I imagine they would,” Ott says. “Much as I would like to have seen my father again.”
I can tell he’s not going to move past this issue, and so I decide to get to the point. “What is it you want?”
He laughs. “How American of you,” he says. “Always in a hurry.”
“Yeah, well, it’s cold,” I say. “And it’s been a long day.”
Ott’s voice, when he replies, is icy. “What makes you think I want anything at all from you?”
This takes me aback. If he doesn’t want anything, why did he ask us to meet him here? Obviously, he has something we want and we have something he wants. The only thing that makes sense is that he wants to trade, or come to some kind of partnership.
“We need to get out of here,” Ariadne whispers to me. “Now.” She reaches for my hand, but Ott speaks again, and I wait to hear what he has to say.
“Maybe what I want is you,” he says.
“Boone,” Ariadne says. “Now.”
This time, I let her pull me away. Something is wrong. But we get only a few steps before a figure confronts us. It’s Kenney. He has a pistol aimed at us.
“Leaving so soon?” he says. “I was hoping we could have a little chat. It seems there’s quite a lot to talk about.”
I turn and look at Ott, who has moved closer and is also now holding a gun. If Ariadne and I try to make a break for it, one or both of us will end up dead. Our only hope is to try to buy ourselves some time.
“All right,” I say to Kenney. “Let�
��s talk.”
CHAPTER 13
Ariadne
In the Greek story of the hero Odysseus, he at one point in his journey is sailing his ship through the Strait of Messina, which is guarded on one side by the six-headed monster Scylla and on the other by Charybdis, who creates a deadly whirlpool by swallowing huge quantities of seawater in an attempt to sate her unquenchable thirst. Knowing that he cannot avoid both dangers, Odysseus is forced to choose one over the other. He elects to pass by Scylla, who devours six of his sailors, rather than risk losing his entire ship to Charybdis. It’s a classic example of being faced with a decision that has no good outcome, and one that Minoan trainers famously use when teaching Players about making difficult choices.
As Boone and I stand between Ott and Kenney, I attempt to figure out which is Scylla and which is Charybdis. If I am forced to confront only one of them, which is the most dangerous? I know nothing about Kenney except that he is a Cahokian operative. As such, he will very much want the weapon for his line. If he knows I am a Minoan, he will be particularly interested in ensuring that I don’t get it. But Ott also wants it for his own purposes, and he has the added incentive of thinking that he needs to avenge his father’s death, for which he blames me. Both men would likely be happy to see me dead.
Because of how we are standing, I am facing Ott, and so he currently draws my focus. Boone, meanwhile, continues the conversation with his linesman.
“I understand you took a detour before heading to Moscow,” Kenney says.
“I had to get the weapon back,” Boone explains.
“Of course,” Kenney says. “You might have mentioned that the Minoans had it, however. Although perhaps it wasn’t the weapon you were most concerned with retrieving.”
He’s of course talking about me. I want to respond to him, remind him that I’m not a trophy to be collected, but it’s important to keep things calm for as long as possible.
“I knew she could be useful,” Boone says.
Kenney laughs. “I’m sure she is,” he says. “Unfortunately, she presents a dilemma. A Minoan working with a Cahokian can end only one way.”
Again, his meaning is clear. One of us has to die. And because he is Cahokian, his choice is much less complicated than that of Odysseus.
“Not necessarily,” Boone tells him, obviously grasping his meaning as well as I have. “There are other options. We could share the weapon.”
“An interesting suggestion,” Kenney says. “However, one I think neither council would agree to.”
“We won’t know unless we ask them.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Kenney replies. “I’ve been tasked with bringing it home.”
I feel things reaching a point of no return, and so I say to Ott, “What about you? Do you think he’ll share with you? Is that what he promised?”
I still don’t know how Ott and Kenney have come to be working together, but I know that it has to be because Ott was given a guarantee of some kind.
“Mr. Ott will be well rewarded,” Kenney says from behind me.
Ott’s gaze flickers from me to where Kenney is standing. Is there uncertainty in his look? Is he now doubting that Kenney will fulfill whatever promise has been made? If I can create a wedge between them, this might give us an advantage.
“He won’t let you have it,” I say to Ott. “Never. If he told you he would, he was lying.”
“She’s very convincing,” Kenney says. “I can see why you fell for her lies, Samuel.”
“She hasn’t lied to me,” Boone snaps. “Ever.”
Kenney laughs again. It is a terrible sound, filled with scorn and malice. “Of course not,” he says.
“Look,” Boone says. “I have the plans and the pieces of the weapon. We can take them back to the council. Back to America. Just let her go back to the Minoans. They don’t have anything now anyway.”
“An excellent idea,” Kenney says. “I’m pleased to see you’re being sensible now. Although I imagine the council will require further explanation from you, having the weapon safely in Cahokian hands is really what we all want. And I’m sure your mother will be relieved to have you home again safe and sound.”
It all sounds very reasonable, easily settled and wrapped up. All Boone has to do is hand over the weapon and the plans. Part of me, the part still hardwired into my Player brain, wonders if he really intends to do it. After all, it makes sense, and if Kenney really lets me go, we all walk away alive, if not happy. My heart, however, tells me he won’t. Once the weapon is given up, he has no reason not to try to kill us. Besides, there’s still a piece of the puzzle missing.
“What about Brecht?” I say. “Without him, the plans are useless.”
“Not useless,” says Kenney. “More difficult to work with, of course, and it would be easier if he cooperated. Then again, he might be persuaded if he thinks the lives of his daughter and grandson depend on it.”
“You have Lottie and Bernard?” Boone says.
“You thought we didn’t know about them?” Kenney answers. “Or about your brother?”
“Are they all right?”
“For the moment. Whether or not they stay that way will depend entirely on you and Brecht.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Boone says. “There’s just one problem.”
“Oh?” Kenney says. “What is that?”
“The Cahokians don’t make threats against people’s children.”
Kenney snorts. “What kind of game do you think you’re playing, Samuel? This isn’t a playground, and this isn’t hide-and-seek. We do what we need to win. And now I am through playing with you. Either cooperate with me, or first I kill the girl and then I give the order for your brother’s wife and child to be dealt with.”
Before Boone can reply, another voice says, “He is not who he tells you he is.”
I recognize the voice. It belongs to Tolya. Turning my head away from Ott, I see him shamble out of the darkness. He is holding a gun of some kind.
“He came to the apartment,” Tolya continues. “He tried to get Yuri and Oksana to tell him where the weapon is. When they told him they did not know, he killed them. I was hiding. I heard everything.”
“Is this true?” It’s Ott who has spoken. He sounds shocked and angry.
“Yes,” Kenney says.
“Who are you?” Boone asks. “Who are you really?”
“Who I am does not matter,” Kenney tells him. “What matters is that I am telling the truth about Brecht’s daughter and her child. If you want them to come to no harm, you’ll give me what it is I want.”
“Ott, are you working with him?” I ask the man in front of me.
Ott shakes his head. “I knew nothing about Lottie and Bernard,” he says.
“How did you come to be involved with him?” I say.
“Tolya remembered the frequency on which Boone transmitted the message to his council,” he says. “I did not trust Boone to give me the weapon, and so I contacted them myself and told them I had it. This man replied and agreed to meet me.”
Boone looks at Kenney. “How did you intercept my messages from Berlin?”
“So many questions,” Kenney says. “Again, it is not important who I am or who I am working for. The only question is, are you going to give me the weapon? As you can see, I have no qualms about killing those who stand in my way.”
“You have two guns trained on you,” Boone says. “And two Players who would love a chance to get their hands on you.”
“You’re right,” Kenney says. “So let’s remove one of those problems.”
He turns and fires at Tolya, who sees him move and tries to get out of the way. But he’s hit, and he falls to the ground with a cry. Boone and I use the distraction to leap into action. As Boone reaches for the pistol in his coat pocket, I go for mine. At the same time, we dive and roll, making it more difficult for anyone to hit us if they fire at us. We come to our feet holding our guns.
Ott has ducked be
hind the statue of the diving woman, and attempts to shoot at me from behind the base. But he is a poor shot, and hindered by the darkness. Kenney is more adept, but Boone is firing at him as well, and he has retreated from the footpath and into the trees. It is difficult for any of us to see the others, even with the clear sky and the quarter moon.
I hear running feet, and realize that Ott has given up trying to battle me and is running away. He is going in the direction of the trees where Kenney has hidden himself and where Boone has also disappeared. I hear several shots, then nothing.
“Boone!” I call out.
“I’m all right,” he shouts back, but his voice is moving away from me. I assume that he’s in pursuit of Kenney.
Tolya is lying on the ground. I have to decide whether I’m going to go after Ott and Kenney or check on him. I know Boone can handle himself, so I decide to check the boy first. I run over to him and kneel. He’s still alive, but barely. Kenney’s bullet hit him in the chest. There is blood on the ground beneath him, black like water in the moonlight, and blood dribbling from his mouth. He is dying.
I take his hand and hold it. His fingers grip mine tightly. He says something, but I can’t hear it. I lean down.
“Sobaki,” he says in Russian. “Sobaki layut.”
The dogs. The dogs are barking.
He smiles, and his eyes empty of life. There is nothing I can do for him, so I leave him there and enter the trees. I have heard nothing since those first shots, and can see nothing at all. I am blind as I move through the woods, searching for the spots where moonlight filters in through the branches. I know I am heading toward the riverbank, but I have no idea where Boone or the others are.
Then there is another series of shots. I call Boone’s name again, and he calls back. I follow the sound, and find him on the riverbank. Ott is lying on the ground, and Boone is kneeling beside him.